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[Radio static overcomes the mic for a while, along with sounds of someone tapping at the microphone]

Hiii- oh shit wait hold on-

[A few taps later and the static seems to disappear, now the mic is just muffled, but still understandable, mostly]

Cool!

Hi trooper! Gosh, it's so weird to talk over verbal comms. I don't think I've done this since training.

Anyway. Onto meat and potatoes.

In my time flying and crying, I've very often thought of a place to truly settle down. Not wake up every so often, and go to other planets, then come back. I mean land my ship for the last time, disengage thrusters, and permanently put my feet down.

Do you have similar thoughts? If so, what's your dream planet?

(Apologies to that one anon for copying, I liked that style :3c)

Hi! Y'know, honestly, I.. hadn't really put any thought into that. Not until maybe yesterday. To be even more honest, the thought that I could just pick a place and stay there for the rest of my life never even crossed my mind until that one broadcast yesterday that, um. Made me cry a little.

I'm not sure that's something that I could see myself doing.. ever. Or at least not right now. Even though it's stressful, I really enjoy all the exploration I'm doing. I give Ambas a lot of shit for how often I'm sent back here, but really, I love it it apart from the heat. It's got cool creatures.. lots of spheres that aren't on the planet I've settled on. Lots of cool things to look at.

But.. Y'know, I have some more time before I get there. If I had to settle down, I think I'd want a planet that's pretty cool like mine. One where I don't need any special protection to just go outside. With pretty plants and wildlife that doesn't want to eat me.

...Maybe I'd just stay at the home I made. But I'd have to do a lot to it, it's... pretty lacking.

Anywho. Thanks for sharing, you really made me think a lot! And 'flying and crying' is a very apt description for what I'm doing here, too.

#no man's sky #nms #in character #unreality #responses #transmissions #log 120

Moxon Doesn’t Think Benedict Died

Moxon has wandered, or hiked, far into the forest -- though not so far as to be unfindable, only taking determination or cleverness to come across. Some of that is mitigated, however, by his choice of loud cursing and firearms practice. That is ... somewhat easier ... to spot. He's set up hay-bales with intervening trees and rudimentary scarecrows, and is settled perhaps fifty yards from the bulk of his display with a supply of paint thinn-- er "Arden moonshine," where he sings a bawdy Minosian sea-chanty and cleans his weapon.

Alec follows the obvious Moxon-sounds until he reaches their source and leans against a tree, watching and listening for a while before coming closer. "Hey," he says. "Thanks for the saves last night."

Moxon shrugs. "We all deserve a hand 'til we can bite off our own extras." He winks, loading his weapon. "... have a drink?" He indulges, because of course he does. "Did we win?"

Alec eyes the drink. "Think I might pass," he says. "And we won, but at a price. Maeghan and Dashton were both mauled by the thing, and I need to completely restring my harp now because it saved me from having my spine ripped out."

Moxon nods. "New harps are cheaper than new spines."

Moxon fires. *pfft-FWOOM!* A great cloud of white smoke! *PTANG* against the target.

"You sound like you're saying that from experience," Alec says. He watches Moxon take his shot. "You're pretty good with that thing."

Moxon shrugs. "I like explosions? So I practice. A bullet's, like, a week's wages -- so sometimes it feels good to cost the Crown a little money." He winks.

Alec chuckles. "I'm surprised I don't find you practicing more often, then," he remarks. "Your love of explosions was actually part of my pitch for bringing you in last night. The other part of it was that we were looking for something flamable and I'm pretty sure you can sense booze. However, Zach had that taken care of by the time I pulled you."

Moxon says, "Eh, your aunt Liv had access to bigger bombs and automated-reloading weapons. Louder, flashier things? But this, this is a 'bang' where 'bangs' are unreliable and rare. It kicks like a drunk mule, you're lucky to see twenty yards through the smoke and the main danger for your target is blood-poisoning and amputation? It hits a lot of my warm fuzzy places."

Moxon's model of gorgeous, hand-worked pistol presented ceremonially to Lieutenants is sawn-down and well-used, 'compact' enough to sit at the small of his back. Only four or six shots, but by god, they'll hit. "Come, come. Sit, let your schizoid survivalist caveman Uncle teach you how to shoot a gun."

"Aunt Liv?" Alec asks. "And I can see why you'd like it. It just doesn't sound that effective in battle. Then again, I've seen you use it and it seems plenty effective..." He eyes the gun at the offer. "Er, sure." He sits beside Moxon and waits for instruction.

Moxon smirks. "Like I said? It's unconventional, unexpected and damned nasty. Like me." He instructs Alec how to hold the weapon, pointing out the parts as he guides the younger man's arm. "Pan, lock, fuse. Trigger-guard, trigger."

Moxon says, "She was Dirk's and my sister. Disappeared before you were born, I'm afraid."

Alec listens to Moxon's instructions, trying to absorb as much as he can. "Ah... From what I've heard, I have a lot of aunts and uncles that just vanished like that."

Moxon takes the weapon, briefly, to reload it. The process takes a minute. Powder, charge, ramming, and so on. Then he returns the weapon to Alec, to let him feel the weight of the loaded thing. "... it happens. Life, like this, is exhausting. Disappearing is common. Shadow is unreliable, unstable, unsteady. Time and space move in strange directions the further from Amber you get."

Alec continues to watch as Moxon loads the weapon, and then takes it. "Yeah, I can see why people would leave," he says. "I can also see why people would stay, though."

Moxon says, "It depends on the person. Whether this, all of this, has any value or just makes one sad and sick. Hell, I can't guarantee I'd give the same answer fifteen minutes from now. Much less fifteen years or decades or centuries."

Moxon says, "So: aim, slow. Careful. Line it up. Mind the wind. Don't brace for it -- keep your arm straight, but no locking any joints. Deep breath, then when you're ready, pull that mean ol' trigger."

"Here's hoping that I keep finding the value in this place, then," Alec says, setting up his shot based on Moxon's advice and firing the weapon.

Moxon's pistol does indeed have a *furious* back-blow. Must be why his forearms are so goddamned meaty. As the smoke clears, it's obvious Alec hit a big load of dangerous 'air,' though an innocent tree might've taken a sucking wound out of the event.

Alec cringes at the recoil and quickly offers back the weapon and then rubs at his shoulder. "I guess I'm not made for this," he mutters, glancing at new hole in the tree. "That won't make Julian or the forest angry, will it?"

Moxon says, "We're far enough out that the wrath of 'the forest' is not so ... direct. If it asks, I'll lie."

Moxon grins.

Alec snorts. "I'm pretty sure the forest would be easier to fool than the Warden." He rubs at his shoulder a little more, rolling it a bit. "What if he stumbles on this hole clearly made by your weapon?"

Moxon shakes his head. "I'm trusted: that means if there's destruction, I deemed it necessary and the consequences will be mine. Not yours. One bullet-hole isn't going to get you beaten up by the ever-living Wildwood. I promise."

Alec slowly nods his head. "Alright, then. More worried about it being tied back to you, but if you're so sure..." He shoots the gun one last look but makes no move to give it another try. "And I think for now I'll stick to failing with a sword."

Moxon says, "Probably best."

Moxon says, "Moose. Moose tear trees up worse with their antlers. Relax."

Alec chuckles. "Dirk's been teaching me a bit about how to use my sword, but apparently it's not enough just yet. I'm probably not cut out for all this fighting. Might as well hire a bodyguard..."

Moxon snorts. "That's Pathian talk. You'll do no such."

Alec says, "What, should I flail around on the battlefield like I did last night instead, then? Wait for allies to haul me out of bad situations?"

Moxon shrugs. "Backup is never a bad idea. You flail 'til you develop a style. *I* flailed, your Dad flailed, *everyone flails.* You'll grow into it."

Moxon says, "CONTUNE TO FLAIL. So ordered."

Alec nods sllowly, a grin spreading across his face. "Alright, flailing will be continued. And I guess meanwhile, while I flail, I always have my trumps. And I have a lot of strong people in my deck already."

Moxon says, "This life grinds us all up? You'll be spit out, like we were, stronger and tougher and craftier. Part of my 'list' is people who humiliated me as a pup, for no reason -- because they could. I don't travel in their circles and wouldn't spit on 'em if they were aflame. Maybe you'll have a list, someday, or maybe you'll Trump ol' uncle Moxon to kick someone's teeth in for ya. As ya prefer."

Moxon says, "Your great-uncle Benedict used to teach me judo? Fancy, evasive talk for 'used me as a practice-dummy.' The ol' bastard (praise be upon his memory, finest man I've ever known) had *one arm* and still beat the IQ out of me for a couple years running."

Alec laughs. "For now, I'll probably do the latter. You're better at it than me. For now, I think I'll stick to making my magical playing cards and wandering Arden when it's safe. And... Everyone's been talking about Benedict recently. And Dirk has some theory about two of his dead brothers."

Moxon says, "Never, *ever* think for an instant you can take the world's greatest general in an open-hand fistfight. He probably could've done it with *no arms,* and skull-fucked me with his stumps for good measure."

"You...really have a way with words, Uncle," Alec says, grinning.

Moxon shrugs. "I say what I mean." He nods. "... anyway, Benedict's not dead. Osric ... nobody knows? I helped Quin with some research on him. He might be trapped behind Alhambra. 'unno. The other one? No clue."

Alec raises an eyebrow. "I was told that Benedict killed himself on the pattern in Rebma," he says slowly. "Did he fake his death or something? And Dirk said he had some theory about one or both of them being buried under the city and that this might be what was behind at least some of Amber's problems, if not all of them."

Moxon goes perfectly stone-faced. "I committed treason for that man. I know, I saw, he could do things *nobody else could do.* He strode onto Rebma's Pattern like A FUCKING SUNDAY WALK. Nobody just ... does ... that, unless there's something on the other side to land on. What. makes. more. sense? That he just walked to his death never-you-mind?! Or that he knew something we don't? He'll. be. Back."

Moxon's ears go cherry red. He looks as if he might reach for his gun, then decides not.

"Er, I suppose so... I don't think I know enough about the guy to be able to say one way or the other," Alec says slowly.

Moxon's pet theory will not be denied. "In this place. With these people. With this much mystery and ... cosmic power ... floating about, the explanation is 'Shut up, he's dead?' Baloney." Moxon rises and stalks away as if he's been punched in the face.

#RTA log #log 120 #Moxon